


The Promise Of Redemption

by nataliaromanovas



Category: Pirates of the Caribbean (Movies)
Genre: Angst, Daddy Issues, Drabble, Family Issues, Historical, I love my son, M/M, Minor Character Death, One Shot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-07
Updated: 2017-06-07
Packaged: 2018-11-10 13:50:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 847
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11128182
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nataliaromanovas/pseuds/nataliaromanovas
Summary: self-pityˌsɛlfˈpɪti/nounexcessive, self-absorbed unhappiness over one's own troubles."he seems to be wallowing in self-pity"





	The Promise Of Redemption

**Author's Note:**

> what the fuck am i doing i have a sociology exam tomorrow

Contrary to popular belief, James Norrington was a man of many emotions. Carefully hidden behind layers of brocaded finery mind, but a man of many emotions nonetheless. That being said, there was one emotion he did not allow himself to experience - self pity. It did not do to dwell on the past, to nurture and feed into one's regrets and let them grow like a child. Norrington knew all too well the destruction self-pity could bring down upon a man; he had seen it in the gaunt faces and glassy eyes of those awaiting the gallows, feverishly muttering their prayers in the festering darkness of the old gaol in the hope that someone, anyone, out there might hear. 

No, Norrington had never been a self-pitying man, so why was it that his breath was hitching so? Why was it that his hands shook uncontrollably while hot tears scorched his cheeks? It was the dull thud of those tears hitting the parchment clutched in his hands which finally drew him back into himself; although barely audible over the ringing in his ears, the sound confirmed the reality of the situation and in turn shocked Norrington to the core. Over and over he read through the letter, wondering whether if he read it enough the words would change and prove themselves to be false, his eyes blurring more each time he finished the page - not that he needed to see it to know what it said, for by this point the image was forever burned in to his memory. 

_"Dear Commodore James L. Norrington,_

_It is with great displeasure that I must write this letter, although I fear I must, for heavens knows it is the least you deserve, having been so disconnected from us over the years. I should have written you before, but you have to understand, it simply was not allowed of me - of any of us - after you were (splodges of ink obscured a few messily scratched out words) and sent away. With the rising of the sun on one cold Hampshire morning, the fifth day of the month of May in our year of the Lord 1753, our Father left this existence in pursuit of a Holier land. I know you are not a man of God, but please, James, if you could spare a prayer for the old fool, I'm sure it would not go amiss. Forgive me, my dearest brother, I am not sure I can bring myself to write to you again; perhaps this letter makes that all the more painful for you, and for that I am sorry - however, I simply thought you had a right to know. While I shall pray for the Lord to absolve you of your sins, James, you understand that I cannot communicate with you further._

_You shan't hear from me again._

_Your sister,  
Mary Norrington." _

 

James Norrington was not a cruel man, but that does not mean he was without his moments of wickedness. There were many times in his life which found him wishing, praying, for his father's death. His mind was drawn to the time, so distant now it hardly felt like his memory, where his father had beaten him senseless in a drunken rage. He thought of the time his father took him on his first voyage on a ship, the HMS Paramount, where he had fallen overboard and subsequently been rescued by a notorious pirate by the name of Edward Teague. He remembered in vivid the detail the bile-rising coldness in his father's eyes as he spat first at the pirate, then at James himself, before turning his back on them and muttering,  
"I would rather he died."  
loud enough for them to hear. 

Above all, James remembered his sixteenth birthday, upon which he woke to find his few belongings packed into one suitcase, which was flung onto his bed as he was ordered to leave immediately, having been caught the evening before kissing a boy from the Southampton estate by the dim candle light of the library. And so James truly was dead to his father, and in turn he wished and wished everyday that his father would die - endless prayers for the endless wrongs that man did him. So why was it that James could not quell the flow of tears which rolled into his open mouth, tasting of the sea? Why was it that his breath came in ragged heaves and his lungs felt as though they were filled with salt water - as if he were drowning in the deep intrusive coldness of the Atlantic? Norrington glanced up and caught sight of his reflection, barely recognisable, in the small mirror he had mounted above his desk, and he laughed. A hysterical laugh that seemed to come from some place other than his own body. He laughed and he sobbed until he no longer felt human. 

Yes, James Norrington may not have been a self-pitying man, but the man staring back at him in the mirror was no longer James Norrington - that name died with his damned father.


End file.
